


What is "Civilized?"

by Dreaming_in_Circles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Death, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not usually this depressing, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of sexual-slavery, Non-typical violence, Slavery, Swearing, There will be a resolution eventually, Threats of Violence, Torture, i think..., of anyone and everyone, post-STID
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_in_Circles/pseuds/Dreaming_in_Circles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James T. Kirk came out of his confrontation with Khan that much older, wiser, and a better leader. He took those lessons to heart, but always kept his cocky, adventurous spirit. He still didn't believe in no-win situations. <br/>Khan had learned the hard way that one could lose, despite all odds, and he fought all the harder because of it, even if he knew he would lose. The only thing the twenty-third century was teaching him was that life across the galaxy was self-serving and cruel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pieces on a Chessboard

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd so please help with any mistakes. This is also an idea that evolved in about two seconds, so plotting may be spotty at the beginning. I've included all the warnings I think will apply... I may have overcompensated, but rest assured this will be dark. Relationships will be added as they develop so-as to avoid additional spoilers.

Kirk walked onto the bridge with a spring in his step. He paused just inside the door and gazed around the bridge, a smile on his face. 

"Captain on the bridge." Spock said, standing from the command chair, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Mr. Spock." Kirk said, walking across the floor to face him. "How's the ship."

"All systems are functioning within acceptable limits, Captain; all stations report normal." Spock said, and Kirk cocked an eyebrow at him. Spock had developed a small sense of humor since their deployment, and Kirk was waiting for the punchline. "We are well-prepared for whatever trouble you would like to get us into." 

Kirk snorted in amusement as Spock stepped aside. "Ye of little faith." He quipped back, sitting in the chair. Spock returned to the science station. "Anything interesting out there?" Kirk asked Sulu.

Sulu checked the scanners, and Kirk saw his eyes light up like they always did when he was excited. One could never complain their job was boring.

"We're approaching a new solar system, Captain. Per regulations, we've been scanning the planets, but one of them our scanners can't penetrate. We know very little about it." Sulu said, turning to face Kirk.

"Mr. Spock?" Kirk turned his chair to face his science officer. Spock tapped a few more buttons, than turned to look at him.

"Visual scanners report an asteroid belt of some kind surrounding the planet, Captain. Depending upon the composition of the asteroids, they may be interfering with our scanners." Kirk nodded and turned back to Sulu.

"Any other ships in the area?" 

Sulu checked the reading. "No sir. The whole system's clear."

"Let's go take a look then." Kirk said with a smile. "Plot a course, Mr. Sulu. Warp five."

"Warp five. Aye, sir." The Lieutenant turned back to his station and tapped in the orders. "Estimated time to arrival, two hours, twelve minutes."

"Engage." Kirk said, and felt the ship adjust course. No, he thought. Their job was never boring. 

\--------

"May I join you, Uhura?" The lieutenant looked up at the English-accented voice. Carol Marcus was standing in front of her, a plate balanced carefully in one hand, a mug grasped in the other.

"Of course. Please." Uhura gestured to the chair across the table from her, and glanced around the Replemat quickly, looking for the time. She didn't want to be late for her shift, and she really hadn't been paying attention before.

Carol set her dishes down - a chicken salad and coffee - and then sat down. "Thanks." She said, throwing a smile to Uhura. "Everywhere else is full."

"It's fine. It's nice to be able to talk; everything's been so busy, we haven't had the chance." Uhura forced a smile, but her words were true. As the two leading women aboard the Enterprise, the two had grown extremely close in the past seven months of deployment. 

"I know." Carol laughed. "You have to admit, Kirk certainly has a penchant for finding trouble. But it does keep life interesting." 

"Yeah." Uhura nodded, looking down at her own food: an omelet she'd cut into pieces and then pushed around her plate until it turned cold. There was a lull in conversation as Carol studied her friend. She glanced around quickly, ensuring there was no one nearby to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Nyota, what's wrong?" She leaned forward and asked quietly. Uhura glanced up at her briefly and shrugged. "Come on, you can tell me." Carol urged.

Uhura braced her elbows on the table and wrung her hands slowly, not looking up. "Spock and I-" She paused, a grimace on her face. "Spock and I broke up."

Carol straightened slightly in surprise. Uhura and Spock had been so close, she'd thought-

"I'm so sorry, Uhura." Carol said earnestly. "That's always tough."

Uhura nodded, and finally looked up. "Yeah, but probably for the better. It ended on... it ended as well as it could. It's probably time we both moved on."

Carol shook her head. "It still hurts." She reached out and grabbed her friend's hand. "If you need someone to talk to...?"

Uhura smiled at the offer and squeezed the doctor's hand a little. "Thanks, Carol. But I think right now I just need some space."

Carol smiled. "Well, you can have space until Saturday. That's Chekov's birthday, and the Captain is planning a surprise party. And you are going." She finished with emphasis.

Uhura smiled. "That sounds fun." She agreed. "How old is Pavel going to be?"

"Nineteen." Both Carol and Uhura laughed; oh, to be young again.

\--------

Fifteen minutes later, Carol was in engineering. She and Scotty had a meeting about the warp core and some new phasers Starfleet had installed before their deployment. Scotty had some concerns, but, Scotty always had concerns. Carol wasn't worried.

The doctor scanned the engineering sector, looking for the Chief Engineer but not finding him. He'd told her to meet him at the starboard side of the warp core, at the command center, but the place was completely deserted. 

"Doctor Marcus!" Someone above Carol yelled. She looked up so see Scotty dressed in a work uniform, braced against the support struts of the warp core. Of course. "I'll be down in a minute; just stay where you are."

Carol smiled up at the engineer and his Scottish accent. At times, it made the man impossible to understand. Carol crossed her arms and watched Scotty finish his work.

Scotty kept his word and was down a minute later. His uniform was covered in grim and he'd managed to get some into his hair as well, making it stick up in places. Carol tried not to laugh.

"What?" Scotty complained, seeing her face.

Carol shook her head quickly. "Nothing. What were you doing?"

"Ah!" Scotty griped, looking back up. "The core's still damaged from the last mission. The Captain's got to stop doing this to his ship! I cannot promise I'll be able to fix it every time."

"Will the core be a problem?" Marcus asked. She'd been under the impression everything had been fixed already.

"Normally, no. Should be all fixed now. But I think your phasers are making the problem worse, Doctor." Scotty led her over to a panel that was monitoring the warp core. The temperature readings were slightly off, Carol gave Scotty that. But she wasn't sure it was because of the new phasers.

"When did this start?" She asked, flicking back through the old data.

"Sometime last night." Scotty responded, and Carol looked back up in surprise.

"But we've been using the phasers for seven months. If they were really the cause, why would the warp core only be reacting now?"

"We used them a lot on the past mission, the most we ever have at one time." Scotty explained. "It think the damaged shielding and high concentration of atomic radiation* set off a reaction in the warp core."

Carol looked back at the readings. "You just finished fixing the shielding now?"

"Yes."

"So the problem will stabilize now that the energy no longer has access to the core." Carol theorized.

"Theoretically, it should. But I'm worried about next time. What if the damage is more severe, or the radiation levels higher? It could drive the core to a meltdown, potentially." Scotty argued.

"I think that's a little extreme, Mr. Scot." Carol pointed to the display. "Even if there was more radiation, I'm not sure that alone would drive the core to a meltdown; not if these readings are correct." Scotty peered over her shoulder. 

"What about these spikes?" He pointed to biggest anomalies, all occurring last night. Carol frowned and pulled up the ship's internal scans from the same time.

"I don't think those were from the phasers." Carol paused and licked her lips. "There is a correlation between the phasers and the warp core due to radiation buildup during an extended period of time. However, all changes are within acceptable limits, I would argue. These spikes, though," She pointed to the ones Scotty had been worried about, "are not within acceptable ranges. But I don't think they're caused by the phasers."

"I don't see what else could have caused them." Scotty said, reviewing the internal scans.

"There must have been something." Carol argued, waving her hand through the air. "There just aren't any increases in atomic radiation that coincide with the warp core's spikes."

The screen suddenly flashed red and Scotty pushed Marcus out of the way to get better access to the panel. His hands flew of the buttons as he found the problem that had set off the warning. From what Carol could see, the warp core had gone critical.

"Chief!" Someone up on a catwalk yelled. Scotty turned to face him. 

"She's too hot. Open the coolant valves. I want to flood the core!"

"But we'll stall the engine!" The workman argued.

"I'll drop us out of warp. That'll save the pylons." Scotty assured him. "Now go!"

The crewman disappeared and Scotty raced to a different panel. Carol whipped her head around, looking for something to hold onto when the ship dropped out of warp.

\--------

Kirk turned as the door opened and saw Uhura walk onto the bridge. She nodded at the Captain and relieved the Lieutenant who was at her station. Kirk didn't miss how she glanced at Spock before settling into her work. 

Kirk stood and moved to lean over Spock's shoulder. "What can you tell me about this planet?"

"Very little, Captain. Whatever is blocking our sensors is very comprehensive and no readings can be obtained. It goes so far as to prevent me from being able to tell what class the planet falls under." Spock brought up the readings, and Kirk could see that he was correct.

"I don't want anyone to beam down there without knowing at least a little about what they were getting in to." Kirk said and Spock nodded. 

"A wise precaution, Captain. But do to the interference, I do not believe we will be able to beam anyone down to the planet. The only way might be by shuttlecraft." Spock explained. Kirk nodded and pulled up the visual scan. The planet looked a lot like earth, with even- was that a city?

"Spock-" Kirk started to point out what he saw to his first officer, but something suddenly threw him backward onto the deck. Spock managed to catch one arm so he didn't go flying and hurt himself too badly, but he still had the air nocked out of him.

Kirk struggled to breath as he swung his head, making sure everyone else on the bridge was alright. There appeared to be no serious injuries, so he pushed himself to his feet and opened a comm to engineering. 

"Scotty, what the hell just happened?"

"I'm sorry Captain, but warp core overheated and we had to shut it down to flood it with coolant." The engineer's voice came over the comms with the sound of rushing air thick in the background.

"What caused the core to overhead?" Kirk asked. The Enterprise was practically brand new, and he'd thought they were behind all the repairs.

"I-"

"Captain-"

Both Scotty and Spock started speaking at the same time. Kirk looked up at Spock, who deferred to the engineer. "Go ahead, Scotty."

"I think it's a reaction that's being caused by the new phasers. We used them a lot more than normal last week and the shielding was cracked, meaning there was a lot of radiation that suddenly had access to the core." 

"Captain." A new voice joined the conversation: Dr. Marcus, Kirk recognized. "Mr. Scot and I were discussing this before the overheat and I'm not convinced that it's the phasers causing the temperature spikes."

"I would agree, Captain." Spock interjected. "I believe the core failure is related to the planet we are approaching." 

"Alright." Kirk said. "Scotty, Dr. Marcus, could you come to the bridge please?"

"Yes Captain." 

"Yeah, alright."

Kirk closed the channel and straightened, turning to Spock. "You think it's the planet. Explain to me how that's possible. We're still 20 minutes out."

"I believe whatever is jamming our scanners may be interfering with other systems, Captain. I cannot say for certain, without knowing the cause of the sensors' malfunction, but it is logical to theorize that if one system is effected, others may be also." 

"You first theorized that the reason our scanners aren't working is because of the asteroids. Is that still your theory?"

"That theory is still possible, but does not support my conclusion that the warp core overheat is connected." Spock conceded. Kirk sighed exasperatedly. Sometimes space travel could be so damned finicky. 

\--------

He was the only human aboard, a fact which did not go unnoticed. He only recognized the few Klingons in the shuttle; all the other species were foreign to him. Most looked humanoid, some even remotely human, but some were completely bizarre. 

Normally he'd be asking how he could fight with these people, how he would work with them. He'd need to know what their skills were and how their biology influenced their fighting. But he didn't care. He didn't care if he didn't come back from this mission. At least then, this hell would end. 

He snorted in amusement. He'd thought humans were bad? There were beings in the universe that made the horrors he'd seen on earth pale in comparison. And the acts they were capable of were equal in their savagery. The sadistic bastards even took pleasure in the acts.

He'd been lucky enough - or tough enough - to claim a small space on the shuttle away from the sweaty masses of imbeciles. He hid up high, in the rafters of the old shuttle, next to an air vent. He was nested away from them, surrounded by cool air and a raggedy blanket, his cuffed wrist clutched to his chest in a white-knuckled grip. It was a tangible representation of everything the twenty-third century had come to represent to him and he despised it.


	2. White Pawn to E4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags have changed; things have been added. Check to make sure you're okay with everything.

Kirk, Spock, Scotty, and Carol all met in the back of the bridge, clustered around Spock's science station. By this time, Scotty and Carol had been informed about the planet. Carol was very supportive of Spock's theory because, she said, it was virtually impossible that the problems were being caused by phasers. Scotty was less sure: he couldn't see how the composition of the mystery planet's asteroids could be harming the warp core.

"We need more answers, Captain. It's that simple. And we need them fast so I can stop abusing the warp core." Scotty said with a shake of his head.

"But where do we get them?" Carol asked, looking at Scotty. "The planet?"

"We have to consider the possibility that the planet might house some hidden danger. With our warp core disabled, we would be unable to get away from any situation that might arise." Spock advised, and Kirk nodded. That was a very good point. And if the planet was inhabited... Kirk wasn't sure he wanted to risk it.

"Scotty, can you fix the warp core without going to the planet?" Kirk looked at his Chief Engineer. "If we got out of range of whatever this is?"

But Scotty shook his head. "Not really, sir. I don't even know what's causing it to red-line. Without that information, I can't hope to solve the problem."

Kirk sighed. "Is there any way to get that information without going to the planet?" He looked between Scotty and Spock, but Scotty was already shaking his head.

"While Mr. Scot is correct that we will have to go to the planet somehow to gain the information necessary to repair the warp core, that does not mean the whole of the Enterprise needs to go. A shuttlecraft with the necessary crew would suffice."

Kirk nodded. "That would put significantly less people at risk. Do any of the weapons systems seem effected by whatever this is, Dr. Marcus?"

Carol shook her head. "No. And I don't believe they will be. They operate on a completely different system from the warp core or scanners."

"Keep in mind, Doctor, that the scanners and warp core are also significantly different. If two separate systems were both effected, what is to stop a third?" Spock reminded her smoothly. Kirk repressed a small smirk; Spock always seemed just a little too quick to correct Carol on the off-chance she made a mistake.

But she was shaking her head now. "I understand your concern, Mr. Spock. But the warp core and scanners, though separate, share some similarities. Far more than anything they have in common with the phasors. Though I obviously cannot say for sure, it seems unlikely the phasers would be effected."

"Alright. Spock," Kirk looked at his first officer. "I need you to assemble an away team to take a shuttle to the asteroid belt. Do not land on the planet; if it is inhabited, I don't want you trying to deal with the locals. And take a security team with you, as a precaution." Spock nodded. "The shuttle will leave when you're ready. Dismissed." Kirk turned to go back to his chair, but Spock placed a gentle hand on his arm to stop him. He waited until everyone had left to speak.

"You will not be accompanying the away mission?" He asked, something like surprise in his voice.

Kirk shook his head, a weak smile on his face. "No. I don't know enough of the science to be of any use to you. Besides, with the Enterprise in such bad shape, I'd rather be here to keep an eye on her."

Spock looked at Kirk with an expression he couldn't quite place. He hadn't seen Spock wear it before, and it was oddly unsettling. "Very well, Captain." Spock said, and turned away. Kirk stared after him for a moment before returning to his own chair.

Fifteen minutes later, Spock had assembled his away team and was prepping the shuttle in the hanger.  
Kirk was unsurprised at the roster, which included Scotty, Chekov, and the Enterprise's resident geologist, an Ensign Asterol. Kirk watched the shuttle launch from the bridge.

"Shuttle one away. We are on our way, Captain." Spock's voice came over the comms.

"Good luck, Spock." Kirk responded. "Don't get yourselves killed."

There was a pause, and Kirk could practically see the face Spock always made when he said something like that. "That would be advisable, Captain. We will be sure to keep that in mind. Shuttle one out."

Kirk smiled. Spock with a sense of humor was... refreshing. His quick-thinking Vulcan brain was good at it, too.

Kirk thumbed open a new channel. "Kirk to engineering."

"Engineering here, Captain." A crewman answered.

"What's the warp core's status?" Kirk wanted to keep an eye on the device, just in case.

"No change sir. It's still threatening to red-line, but the coolant flood seems to keep it pretty stable for now. I wouldn't suggest going to impulse, though, sir. That might push it over the edge."

"Thank you. Kirk out." Kirk closed the comm and looked back at the view screen. The shuttle had long since disappeared from sight, and they'd lose it to the sensors soon. Kirk tried to ignore the fear that was settling in his gut; there really was no reason for it. They'd taken every precaution they could. Everything would be fine.

\--------

Spock was a capable pilot and had them where they need to go before long. The flight had been in silence, Scotty too busy trying to take readings, Chekov and Asterol too busy catching up on what little had been determined. The three security men in the back nervous after Spock's short briefing. The tension in the craft was palpable.

"We are approaching the planet now." Spock said calmly, and everyone craned their necks to see. It looked like Earth, Spock decided, but an older earth. Maybe twentieth or twenty-first century. He could see cities lit up yellow and gold on the dark side, and vast green forests and clear water on the light. The asteroids didn't appear unusual to the naked eye, just dead brown rocks orbiting the planet at varying speeds.

"Mr. Chekov, are you able to run a scan of the asteroids or the planet?" The turned his head slightly to see the young ensign in his peripheral vision.

"I am running a scan now sir, but I cannot seem to read anything on the planet or the asteroids." Chekov shook his head and tried again. "At this range, sir, I should be able to get something. It's as if someone is purposely jam-"

Chekov was cut by the loud trill of alarm klaxons. Spock turned back to the front; the engines were far too hot.

"You've got to kill the engines, Commander, before we overheat!" Scotty yelled over the racket.

"If we do that, Mr. Scot, we will be unable to return to the Enterprise." Spock responded, cooly.

"If you don't, the core will melt down!" Scotty retorted, and Spock knew he was correct.

"I will attempt to land on an asteroid." Spock said, figuring they could make repairs once they were down.

"Commander, there!" Chekov pointed past Spock to a large asteroid. "That one appears to have an atmosphere; the visual scanners picked up what looks like structures and plant life!" Spock's own vision confirmed what Chekov said. Whoever had gotten there most likely used space travel; perhaps they could assist in repairs.

"I am setting course for the asteroid." Spock said as the klaxons continued to sound.

"You better hurry, Spock." The Vulcan heard Scotty mutter, but ignored the jib. They were almost there.

There was an initial jolt as they approached the surface, proving that there was indeed an atmosphere. Spock was able to land without further damaging the shuttle, but it wasn't soft by any means. Scotty shut down the engines the moment the shuttle touched down. The klaxons shut off, plunging the shuttle back into eerie silence.

Then Spock unstrapped himself and life seemed to jump back into action. Everyone followed suit and stood, regathering their materials and waiting for orders.

"Mr. Scot, begin diagnostics of the engines and see if you can find the cause of the failure. Mr. Chekov, begin an analysis of the asteroid and coordinate with Mr. Scot to see what has caused our scanners and now our engines to fail. Ensign Asterol-" Spock turned to address the forgotten geologist. "-you are to assist Chekov with his analysis of the asteroid; find out if its composition is somehow affecting our systems." The ensign nodded quickly. "I will take one of the security personnel to the structures we saw and determine if any of the locals can help us."

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested their orders, then everyone burst into action. One of the security guards released the hatch and people started piling out of the shuttle. Spock stepped into the clean, cool air and surveyed their location. They appeared to have landed in forested area near a small river. The air was thick with moisture and left a slightly metallic taste on Spock's tongue.

"Smells like home." Ensign Asterol came up behind Spock slightly, taking a deep breath.

Spock turned to him. "Home?"

The ensign nodded. "Sirvecta Six, just outside the Borderland."

"You are Orion?" Spock asked. He'd seen the pale green pallor of the ensign's skin earlier, but had assumed the emergency landing has simply unsettled him.

"Yeah. One-forth on my mother's side. The rest of me's human." Asterol shrugged. "I'd better get started."

Spock nodded and turned to the senior security officer, Lieutenant Commander Giotto. "I will require one member of your team to come with me to the town."

"I was thinking I would come with you, sir." Giotto said confidently. "My two boys can handle things here; I'd rather see who we're up against."

"Though it is wise to be cautious, there is no reason yet to assume these people are our enemies." Spock warned the commander. "I would like to leave immediately."

"I'm ready when you are." Giotto said, and Spock nodded and started off, setting a quick pace. Giotto appeared in good shape and kept up easily. Spock estimated the town was five miles away, over a small mountain range; he believed it would take them two hours to get where they were going.

\--------

"Human! Get your ass down here!" The captain of the shuttle yelled up into the rafters. The human in question took a breath and shoved his blanket to the side, hiding it as best he could in a corner. It was all he had; he might need it later.

He pushed himself off the ledge without a second thought, dropping the twenty feet to the ground easily. The captain - a green-skinned, strong alien - looked him over once before grabbing his forearm and dragging him through the crowd of aliens. They were sprawled out across the deck of the cargo bay, every one of them fighters, covered in sweat and dried blood. He found them repulsive.

The captain dragged him to the doors of the cargo bay, which were surprisingly open. The captain yanked him in front of him. The human turned and scowled at the alien, then turned to face the door. A man was standing there, looking completely human, but the prisoner knew that looks didn't mean shit.

"Do you have a name?" His voice was deep and brisk, with a hint of an accent he didn't recognize. He looked old, with silver hair and drooping eyelids.

"No." The human lied, and the man cocked an eyebrow at him. It lifted his eyelid enough that he could see the man's eyes, or what he had instead. They looked like small, silver metal balls with cameras instead of pupils.

"When a human lies, his temperature rises anywhere from one-half to one-and-a-half degrees. Now, I know you have a name, I've already found it, so you just lied to me." He paused, and the silence stretched on. The prisoner didn't look away. "Your temperature did not change."

That was not surprising to the human, though he hadn't know it before. The silence came back, and the man tilted his head slightly in a way that clearly was asking for a reason. But he wasn't going to get one.

"He's human?" The man finally asked, looking behind the prisoner to the captain.

"Yes." The captain said without hesitation.

"I will take him." The man said, and the human frowned. The man reached out and grabbed onto his arm and pulled him closer before taking out a communicator. "Two to transport." He said calmly, the the world dissolved around them in a blanket of green and orange lines: Klingon transporter.

With a Klingon ship, the human added as they rematerialized. The dark greens and browns were undeniably feral. He was lead to a large room with a single table in the center, but no chairs. The Klingon version of a conference room.

"Now," the man started, standing across from his prisoner, hands clasped behind his back. "You work for me now. This term of employment will last no more than six months. If, by the end of that time, you have done everything I require of you successfully, you will be released."

The human frowned at him and tilted his head slightly.

"If you do not, you will be resold to the slave trade. Do you find these terms acceptable?" The man was serious, he realized. He could use that to his advantage. He held out his wrist with the manacle on it. The man looked at it, then looked him in the eye with a sly smile.

"Not quite yet. You will have to prove something of yourself first, John." The human started at the name. It was a small movement, just a single blink, but it stood out harshly from his normally stoic features.

"Yes." The man continued smugly. "I know all about you. How you turned on the Federation, how they say you're crazy. But I think I can harness your destructive power, and together we will do incredible damage." It was clearly a sales pitch. The human barked a single laugh, his expression somewhere between incredulous and amused.

"I find your terms acceptable." He finally said. His voice was cracked from disuse but still managed to sound low and terrifying. His British stilt and word choice added a level of formality and refinement to the situation that really wasn't there. It was like a bad sitcom.

The man nodded and the prisoner was led away. He was shoved into a tiny room, barely four feet square and no more than seven feet tall. It was cold and grimy, a thin layer of moisture and grit over everything. The moment they closed the door the cell was plunged into complete darkness. It was completely silent.

The man settled down, sitting with his legs crossed, back to the door. He was sitting completely straight and still. He slowed his breathing and pressed his hands together in-front of him, pushing as hard as his strength would allow. He'd been patient. He'd endured. The time for him to act was approaching. Just a little more. He only had to last a little longer.


	3. Albin Countergambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor swearing in this one; I added a tag for it. It might get worse, Starfleet tends to have pretty clean mouths, but...

Spock and Giotto arrived at the town two hours, sixteen minutes, and twelve seconds after leaving the shuttle. Or rather, they stopped half-way down the mountains after two hours, sixteen minutes, and twelve seconds. 

The town itself was comprised of eleven builds, none more than a few hundred square feet, all one story. The larges was in the very center of the town and did not have a roof, merely a tarp of some sort draped over the top. There was no smoke coming out of the chimneys, no one in the streets, no lights in the windows. The town looked completely deserted. 

"So, what?" Giotto asked the air. "They all just decided to leave?"

"It could not have been that long ago, or the moisture would have caused more damage to the buildings. Many appear to be made out of wood." Spock reasoned, straining to find some sign of life in the town.

Giotto snorted and shook his head. "I don't like it, Commander."

"Your personal feelings toward the town are irrelevant; we have to go there." Spock said, looking at Giotto and gesturing down the mountain. But the security chief didn't move.  
"With all due respect, sir, why? It's a safe bet that nobody's there, and I'd rather avoid the tactical nightmare that searching that place would be." Giotto shrugged.

"While you are correct there is an element of risk, we need to find out if this asteroid poses some threat to us and if there is anything in the town that can help repair the engine." Spock explained. 

Giotto looked back at the town. "It just doesn't feel right." He mumbled, then raised his hands defensively, cutting Spock off. "I know. My person feelings don't matter. But I'm telling you sir, that place is dangerous. I just know."

"Are you referring to the human instinct of 'gut reasoning,' Commander?" Spock asked, honestly curious. He'd seen Captain Kirk made dubious decisions based on his 'gut' before, and wanted to know more about the instinct.

Giotto snorted and shrugged again. "I suppose so. Let me guess: irrelevant."

"If you have no proof to back your 'gut reasoning' up, I see no reason not to go down." Spock intoned, and Giotto nodded. That settled, they finished their hike down the mountain and into the town.

The houses were neatly made and the pathways between were straight. There were garden patches in the fronts and backs of nearly every building, growing mostly vegetables Spock recognized, but some he was unfamiliar with.

They walked through the first house they came to. It was made out of pale wooden planks and didn't have a door, just a curtain draped over the opening. Inside, the floor was made out of more wooden planks. A stone fireplace adorned one wall and furniture made out of some kind of green, hollow wood was positioned throughout the room. A mattress, sown together from large leaves and stuffed with more plant life, rested on the floor in one corner covered by a neatly-made quilt. The building was one room. A table in the center had dishes neatly stacked on it, a bucket partially full of water rested on the floor next to the table. 

They crossed through the house, not touching anything, and emerged on a path leading to the center of the town. They followed it down, peering into houses as they passed. Several had curtains for doors, and many of the curtains had been ripped down. None of the doors were closed. 

"Sir. Look." Giotto pointed at a garden near one house. The plant life had been trampled and the imprints left in the soft dirt showed overlapping footprints pressed deep, as if the makers had been running. Giotto pulled his phaser out of his holster, but kept it at his side. Spock didn't argue.

They arrived at the main structure moments later. It was taller than the others by a few feet. The door was slightly ajar, and inside Spock could smell something had gone rancid. Giotto took the lead and slowly pushed the door open, phaser at the ready. He looked around the corner of the door and recoiled immediately. 

"Oh my god." He muttered, gagging. Spock paused to make sure he was alright, then kept going. He pushed the door open completely and felt his eyes go wide at the sight.  
The room had obviously been a meeting place. Rows of benches build into the floor led down to a flat stage in the center. It was the building where the townsfolk gathered to be social or discuss politics. Now, the floor was littered with bodies. They covered the entire room, sprawled uncaringly on top of one another. Some were missing pieces of clothing, specifically below the waist, and Spock could surmise what had occurred. Others had bloody wounds or missing limbs, and from their positions and the looks frozen on their faces, they clearly had not died immediately. 

The most horrifying corpse, perhaps, was the one in the center of the auditorium stage. An old-fashioned, double-headed spear had been jammed into the wooden floor. An old man - presumably the town leader or elder - had been... shoved onto it, the second head impaling his chest, the barbs along the shaft holding him there. Blood, dried and caked now, and dripped down his body and pooled on the floor. Someone had taken some of it and drawn a red line across the old man's face.

"Jesus." Giotto swore behind Spock. The Vulcan blinked several times and took deep breaths, trying to quell... whatever it was that was tearing around inside his chest. It felt like it physically hurt.

"We need to warn those at the shuttle." Spock said, forcing himself to turn away from the scene and walk back outside. He pulled his communicator out at the same time. "Spock to shuttle crew." He clicked it off, but got no response. "Spock to shuttle crew, respond."

"Oh, shit." Giotto swore again.

"Let's go!" Spock said urgently and broke out into a steady jog. He heard Giotto pick up his pace behind him, and hoped the human would be able to keep up. He didn't want to stop until they got back to the shuttle.

\--------

"Alright. I'm going to see if I can identify any radiation in the area that would affect shuttle's systems. Ensign Asterol, if you could find the chemical composition of the surrounding geological formations, that would be most helpful." Chekov said, looking at the green-skinned scientist. 

"Yes, of course. I also want to see if I can find a rock outcropping near here and try to get some samples that may more accurately represent the core composition. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Asterol asked.

"Not right now." Chekov shrugged. "We don't know anything right now; we're basically fishing. Anything you can tell us would be helpful."

Asterol barked a laugh. "Well, then I'll have to tell you everything, because I failed engineering at the Academy."

Chekov smiled. "That's alright. But we had better get started." Asterol nodded and turned away. He needed to find someplace with a little less grass to get a good base soil sample. He found a patch of dirt several yards from the shuttle behind a grove of trees. 

He took a sample, packing a small amount of dirt into a test tube and inserting it into a compounder. The device was designed to determine the chemical make-up of the substance. Asterol set that aside while it worked on the problem and turned back to the soil. Viewed on the microscopic level, it was a healthy mix of fine and coarse particles, allowing it to trap water more effectively. That would explain all the plant life and-

*Beep* Asterol turned as the compounder finished its analysis. Asterol frowned at the results; there was far too much carbon in the soil. Unless- all the plant life meant lots of dead plants. That would add a lot of nutrients to the soil, like carbon. But right now, Asterol needed a base analysis. He'd have to go deeper for that.

Asterol dug around in his pack for the collapsible shovel he'd brought. He unfolded the shovel and lengthened the handle and started digging. Two feet should do it, maybe three to be on the safe side. The soil wasn't very hard or compact, probably all the water in the air. Asterol wondered how much it rained here; the river hadn't looked very full, but then again, maybe it just drained quickly.

Just over two feet down, Asterol hit something hard and metallic. At first he thought it was just a rock, but when he removed the dirt he found a square, metal box. Asterol lifted it out of the whole with some difficulty - and he was used to lifting 30 pound rocks - to examine it closer. There weren't any markings on it, and it appeared to be an almost flawless metal covering. But it hummed ever so slightly and was vibrating the same amount. 

Asterol set it back down and repacked his equipment into his backpack, which he pulled on before picking the box up again. He adjusted it in his arms, then walked back to the shuttle. Ensign Chekov appeared to by trying to work a scanner of some sort, and was crouching near the shuttle. Commander Scot was nowhere to be seen. 

"Ensign Chekov!" Asterol yelled, and the young Russian looked up in confusion. His confusion turned to surprise when he saw Asterol with the box, and he rushed over to help him, shouting for Commander Scot to come out.

Together, they carried to box back to the shuttle, where Commander Scot joined them. For a moment they all just stood there, no one sure what it was nor what to do about it.  
"Where did you find this, laddie?" Scotty finally asked.

"It was buried in the dirt, about two feet down, behind some trees. I was trying to get a sample when I hit it." Asterol explained, gesturing to where he'd come from.

"According to these scans," Chekov said, staring at his tool. "This is the source of the failures. It is emitting a kind of energy I have not seen before. But it looks like the frequency would interfere with all electronic equipment."

"Even your scanner thing?" Asterol asked, pointing to the tool Chekov was holding.

"That's too old to be affected, laddie. It operates on a difference frequency." Scotty explained kneeling down beside them and rapping lightly on the box. "We're going to have to crack this thing open and find out how it works if we hope to get our stuff running again."

"So you're saying that the all the system failures were caused by this man-made box?" Asterol asked, his mind spinning.

"Yes." Chekov said enthusiastically and Scotty nodded.

"So it's intentional." Asterol continued. Chekov's face fell and his eyes flicked to Mr. Scot, who looked just as worried. He sat up a little straighter and looked around, a frown creasing his face.

"When was the last time anyone saw a security guard?" Scotty asked calmly, and Asterol started, not feeling very calm.

"Alright." Scotty said slowly, precisely. "Let's pack everything up and get back in the shuttle. We can secure the hatch until Commander Spock gets back, let him in, and then see what he wants to do about the situation." Everyone nodded and began to move with a forced calm. Chekov and Asterol moved the box and Scotty collected all the shuttle parts he'd strewn outside. 

Chekov moved to help him, but stopped. "Oyo! I took off the paneling on the starboard side to access the power junctions. I have to go put that back on-"

"I got it." Asterol volunteered. "You finish with the Commander."

"All you have to do is put it on; it will seal by itself." Chekov told him and he raced around the back of the shuttle. There in front of him, as promised, were three panels from the shuttle's siding, lying out on the grass. Asterol picked up the one closest to him and settled it in the corresponding hole on the shuttle. He heard the suck and click of it sealing and let go. The panel stayed where it was.

He grabbed the second quickly and set it against the next opening, but it didn't seal. Asterol pulled it off, feeling slightly panicked, and looked at it. It was backwards. He growled in frustration and flipped the panel around. 

There was a quiet, almost inaudible, sound of metal clinking together behind him, and Asterol panicked. He whipped his head around, thinking maybe he could fight off the attacker. Before he got very far pain exploded on the side of his head and the ground rushed up to meet him. He couldn't open his eyes and everything went dark.

\---------

John woke to silence and darkness. He didn't know what woke him, but knew it must be something, so he pushed himself off the wall and stood, stretching as best he could in the confined space. The damp was doing evil things to his muscles. 

There was the sound of metal on metal and a series of clicking sounds John recognized, but he didn't know from where. The door opened, light rushing into the small cell. John looked right at the people standing in the doorway, not blinking or hiding his eyes. Hands reached in and dragged him forward; a black hood was pulled over his eyes.

Five minutes, six turns, and two turbolift rides later, John was pushed down into a chair and the hood was ripped off his head. The man who'd bought him, who'd offered him a deal, was sitting on the other side of a small table, a chess board between them. 

"Good morning, John. You slept well, I trust?" The man said pleasantly, not looking up from a PADD he was reading.

"Yes." John said, and it wasn't a lie. He could sleep just about anywhere. 

"Good." He handed the PADD to someone else - and aide of some sort, John guessed - and finally looked at his prisoner. "I was hoping we could take this time to further discuss our agreement and my plans for you."

"How much do you know about me?" John asked immediately. The man arched an eyebrow, revealing his cyborg eyes again. 

"I hadn't been expecting an interrogation. Why do you want to know?"

John didn't say anything, just stared. He was making a bet with himself: if he didn't back down, he would have more opportunity in the future. He needed to be seen as equal and strong.

And door opened and the man's eyes flicked to look at whoever was entering. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair as the same person from before came over and set a tray of food in front of the man.

"You're a stubborn bastard, that much is obvious." The man remarked as he tucked into his meal. "Fair warning, that might get you in trouble later. But I'll humor you now.

"I know your name is John Harrison and the Federation considers you a terrorist, the first they've had to deal with in many a decade. I know you are responsible for the destruction of London, and I know you disappeared into the depths of Section 31 after finally being apprehended." The man painstakingly cut is food into equal pieces and delicately placed one slice into his mouth. John felt his own mouth water, but said nothing. "Oh, and I know your hearing was held before the Federation Council, but I have not read that as-of yet; sadly it's classified." The man swallowed and gave a sly grin. "But I will get it eventually; I always do."

"What is your name, and why do you hate the Federation?" John asked.

The man laughed, taking another bit. "What makes you think I hate the Federation."

"You came to that slave shuttle looking specifically for me because I hate the Federation; that much is clear. So your plans most likely involve the Federation and not in a good light. I want to know who you are and why you hate the Federation." John leaned forward quickly and snatched a piece of the man's breakfast. Another power-play.

The man jumped in surprise at his speed, but recovered quickly. His face dropped its former amusement and he leaned forward slightly, staring at John with a look he couldn't interpret. "You I will have to watch; but you will do perfectly." 

The man straightened and looked toward the door. John turned to see the same aide as the last two times standing there with another tray. She came to the table and set it down in front of John. 

"Please." The man said, gesturing at the food. "Eat. And we will discuss our plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say last chapter: pawn to E4 is a common move made by amateur chess players.  
> Albin Countergambit is an uncommon opening by black in response to a move by white.


	4. London System

Spock hovered on the edge of the trees, not quite inside the clearing yet. His breathing was even and quiet, while Giotto behind him was gasping. But to the Commander's credit, he'd kept up with Spock the whole way back. 

The shuttle was as they left it, the hatch open, a few piles of tools and parts littering the grass around it. But Spock could find no sign of Commander Scot, Ensigns Asterol and Chekov, or the two members of security. There were no obvious signs of a struggle, but they were several yards from the scene. The same was true about blood.

"Do you think they went somewhere to look for something? Or seek shelter?" Commander Giotto offered, but Spock could tell from his tone he really didn't believe his words. Spock only shook his head.

"Well," Giotto continued a moment later. "We didn't see anyone on our way here, and I don't see anyone in the forest now. I think we should go take a look around. You never know, we might find them."

Spock opened his mouth - the odds of finding them were diminishing with every second, well into the millions by now - and closed it again. He didn't really what to think about the odds; Giotto, as a human, surely wouldn't either.

They breached the edge of the forest and crossed the clearing to the shuttle. There was still no sign of blood, but Spock saw the piles of tools and parts were not nearly as organized or neat as Scotty would demand at work.

Spock continued forward to the shuttle. Inside were more parts, scattered about haphazardly. Spock picked through it absently and couldn't find any order to their placement. A metal box that had been placed on a seat in the back caught his attention. It had not been part of the manifest list. 

He walked over and examined the box, but could find no identifying markings or even any sort of access panel, though it seemed to be partially coated in dirt. He had never seen anything like the device before, and was baffled at its purpose. It vibrated in his hands very slightly and hummed, though Spock guessed it was higher than the range of human hearing.

"Commander, I can't find any sign of them. I can't even tell if they were forced away or walked off on their own, as unlikely as that may be." Giotto was leaning of the door of the shuttle, and worried look on his face. 

"Our first priority is to find the cause of the ship's failure and counteract it. Once that is accomplished, we will be able to contact the Enterprise even from here." Spock told him, then returned to his examination.

"With all due respect, sir, don't you think we should go try to find them?" Giotto asked, a hint of frustration in his voice, and Spock turned to face him.

"I would like to find them and ensure that they are not hurt, Commander. But where do you suggest we look?" Spock paused, and saw recognition on Giotto's face. "If we are able to restore the ship's systems, it will include the scanners, and we will be able to find them much more quickly."

"You're right, sir. I apologize." Giotto looked down slightly, then back up at Spock. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Spock nodded slightly. "How much do you know about engineering?" 

Giotto shook his head. "Not that much. I took a couple of classes at the Academy, but..."

"I need you to bring all of the parts and tools piled outside back into the shuttlecraft and return them to their proper places. Once you are finished, come see me."

"There are some panels off on the starboard side of the shuttle. Should I replace those, too?" Giotto gestured with his head.

Spock nodded. "Yes." He turned back to the box as Giotto left the shuttle. Crouching down next to it and looking closely, he could see the metal was not as seamless as he'd originally thought. None of the tools would be small enough to pry it open, but perhaps...

Spock searched the floor of the shuttle for the usual small metal shavings that wore off due to wear and tear. The shuttle's floor was slightly magnetized to prevent them from flying about when the craft was in space; Starfleet had yet to find a way to stop them from being an issue.

He found one quickly and returned to the box. The sliver just barely fit inside, and Spock wiggled it back and forth to work it in deeper. When the sliver was half-way in, Spock applied pressure to the end and felt it slowly give way. As soon as he could, he slid a fingernail in beside the sliver and pulled harder, then was able to add another nail. It wasn't long before he could fit several fingers in the gap, and though the metal resisted bitterly to being removed, he was able to get it open.

The mechanisms inside were complex and imperfect, as if someone had tried to construct the device without having access to the proper materials. But the use of what materials they did have showed a great deal of ingenuity. It was very complex, but used only half of what Spock would have needed to do the same job, and was missing the expensive, rare, or control materials.

A small, circular object was lit up a sickly green and was the source of both the humming and vibrating. Wires led from the circle to a metal box nestled next to it. A series of circuit boards completed the device. It appeared to be mainly composed of wires, which connected everything and seemed to hold the device together.

It clearly was designed to generate a specific frequency of energy, to what end Spock was unsure. But he could find out easily enough. Spock pulled out his communicator and attempted to call Commander Giotto. Nothing happened, proving the systems failure was still in effect. He then disconnected the majority of the wires, making sure at the same time to remember where they did connect. The light from the generator blinked and then shut off entirely, the humming and vibrating stuttering to a stop at the same time.

Spock opened his communicator again and noticed the active light was on once again. “Spock to Giotto.” He said with bated breath. There was an agonizingly long silence as Spock waited for a response. After twenty seconds, he still hadn’t gotten a response, so he tried one more time. “Spock to Giotto, respond.”

“Giotto here.” The Commander’s voice came through the small speaker on the communicator. “Commander, wha- how is this working?”

“I believe I found what is responsible for our system failures, Mr. Giotto. If you would please join me in the shuttle, I will explain. Spock out.” Spock closed his comm and tucked it back in his pocket. He stood and selected a tricorder from a nearby pile of tools as Giotto came barreling in. 

“What did you find?”

“Come and see.” Spock said, gesturing at the box. “This device – whatever it is – seems to be stopping all electronic functions. Since I’ve deactivated it, the communicators and tricorders are working.” Spock opened the tricorder and started a scan. “However, I am not certain we will be able to fly the shuttle. This device does not appear to be the only one of its kind; there is still too much interfering energy in the area.”

“Can we use the shuttle’s comms to contact the Enterprise?” Giotto asked, and Spock turned to look at him. 

“I have not tried. I will continue my analysis of the energy, you should attempt to hail the Enterprise and explain our situation.” Giotto nodded and Spock turned back to the tricorder.

The energy appeared to be multi-phasic in nature, which was why it interfered with so many systems. It didn’t appear destructive, simply inhibiting. The question was how to neutralize it. Perhaps emitting a counter-acting energy would cancel out this one, but what kind and how-

“Sir!” Giotto interrupted Spock’s thoughts urgently. “We’ve got company!” Spock turned to see several aliens emerging from the forest in front of the shuttle, armed with knives and swords. Giotto had already left the cockpit, phaser in hand. Spock pulled one of his own from the weapons rack and joined the Commander at the door.

“That’s close enough!” Giotto yelled at the aliens, gesturing for them to stop with his phaser. They merely laughed and kept walking.

“They do not know we deactivated this part of the field. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.” Spock suggested and Giotto nodded. The security officer aimed his phaser just over the heads of the aliens and fired several shots. The aliens froze in their tracks, clearly stunned and looked at each other for guidance. Several started to back up, not keen on getting shot, but none retreated completely. Most took refuge just inside the forest, using trees as shields, still a troubling threat.

“Well, Commander Spock,” Giotto sighed. “Looks like we’ve got a stand-off.”

\--------

John stood just inside the door of his new quarters. They were ten feet cubed this time with a single light set into the ceiling, a cot pushed up against one wall, and a replicator in one corner. John was sure he was severely limited in what he could order.

He looked down at the PADD still clutched in his hand. It contained the first part of the plan the man – Jehoram he’d said his name was – had cooked up. John still wasn’t sure why Jehoram hated the Federation or needed him. His first task was a simple business transaction: he was purchasing a few slaves Jehoram expected to be on Orion Six. Very difficult.

He’d be doing everything under the name ‘John Harrison.’ He resisted the urge to vomit at the name. He was so sick of hearing it, of being called by it as if it were his own. He was so tired of the twenty-third century. 

He tossed the PADD onto the bed and turned around to face the door. He was close enough to it that it should have been open, and he could only presume it had to be manually activated. But there wasn’t a panel anywhere on the wall. So he was still a prisoner. His hand went automatically to the cuff on his wrist. It took conscious effort to rip his hand away.

John turned away from the door and took a step into the room. He didn’t get any farther before he felt his muscles tense and his breathing go ragged in a way he was becoming very familiar with. He froze, every cell in his body tense and shaking, he wasn’t even trying to breathe anymore. No, he wasn’t giving into this. This pure rage that he despised so when he could think and right now he wasn’t and he couldn’t, he just couldn’t; he needed to think-

John whirled around and slammed one fist into the door, a hollow, metallic ring emanating from the metal as it was crushed and collapsed under his fist. He pulled his hand back, shaking slightly. He couldn’t open his fist and was sure he’d broken something. It would take a few hours to heal and would ache throughout the whole process, but surprisingly he felt better now. And he didn’t regret anything.

He sat down cross-legged in the center of the room. He needed to think. He pressed his hands together and took a deep breath, letting it out as slowly as possible. He searched his mind for that quiet place, hidden deep inside of him. The Sikh Guru he’d studied with centuries ago had taught that meditation was a way to commune with God. John didn’t believe in a God – especially not now – and simply found meditation the best way for him to think and plan.

\--------

Jehoram raised a curious eyebrow. He did it intentionally, though he supposed there was little effect to it now. This man – if he could be called that – was just such a fascinating specimen. His actions against the door were really the first emotions he’d shown in all the footage and eye-witness descriptions he’d been able to gather on him. 

It made him wonder: what had the Federation done to this man to make him such a lifeless person? He clearly was deprived of the lighter side of humanity, so consumed by rage and revenge as he was.

Even Jehoram himself, who had witnessed and even committed acts wholly bereft of compassion, was a far more light-hearted being than this mysterious John Harrison. But that depravity was why Harrison would work so perfectly for what Jehoram had planned. And he would follow willingly to the end because he would naively believe that he was getting the revenge he so desired. 

Jehoram smiled to himself, a look that pulled at the extra skin covering his face, making the action more exaggerated than it was. He was told he looked quite demented when he did smile, and he saved the expression for rare occasions because of that.

He exited the security room and returned to the conference room where he’d eaten with Harrison just a few hours ago. The man hadn’t eaten very much at all; after the display of stealing a bit from Jehoram’s plate, he’d expected Harrison to scrape his own clean. But he’d only eaten a fraction of the food and then ignored it.

The chess board on the table had been altered. A single white piece had been moved; the queen’s pawn had been moved to D4. Jehoram frowned, trying to remember when Harrison could have done this, for it could be no one else. He’d been the last to leave the table, yes, that was correct. The bastard thought he could challenge Jehoram at chess, did he? It was another test, just like the interrogation and the food, of course. Harrison was always testing limits. Well, he’d show the arrogant bastard.

Jehoram moved the black king’s pawn to E6. He would eagerly away Harrison’s next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to send a shout-out to the lovely BotanyCameos who's art is fantastic and I'm glad she likes what I'm writing. And, as always, I'd like to thank everyone who's reading this and leaving a Kudos because you inspire me.
> 
> The London System is a series of black moves often considered to give white the upper hand, though it has been played successfully to allow black to make a series of sharp attacks.


	5. The Immortal Losing Game

Asterol woke slowly, to the sounds of shouting and machinery working. People were talking, lots of people, put the machinery was too loud and he couldn't make out the words. His brain seemed as thick as Tellurian honey. He had the pins-and-needles feeling of a limb falling asleep, but all over his body.

There was an ache in his shoulders and his head was throbbing. Asterol let himself flop over onto his side and tried to bring his hands up to his face. He couldn't move his left hand, though, and he forced his eyes open to see why.

He had a metal cuff around his wrist that was probably magnetized and stuck to the metal-grid floor. Asterol looked around slowly, craning his neck and trying to ignore the pain. People, the vast majority human, filled the low, long room. He could see Chekov several yards away, still unconscious.

"Oi! Laddie!" Someone whispered intensely, and grabbed his boot and shook it. Asterol looked down to see Commander Scot leaning over to him. The Commander had a large bruise on his left temple disappearing into his red hair. "Are you alright, Asterol?"

The ensign rolled over as best he could and drew his legs up under him. He stretched, trying to stand, and his head protested violently. "Yeah." He groaned out. "I'm getting there." He looked back at the room, trying to see if he could find more details about where they were.

The air was thick with smoke, a smell that Asterol didn't recognize but he could see it in the light. The lighting itself was dim and filtered through a gridded celling. Asterol looked up and saw people standing there, laughing and talking, occasionally glancing down at the captives below. Asterol took another deep breath, trying to get past the stale and cloying smoke, and found a heavy perfume, human blood and sweat, and something that instantly conjured an image of his mother: Orion pheromones.

"I know where we are." He breathed quietly to Scotty, who perked up at the statement.

"Well, don't keep it to yourself. Where?" The engineer hissed. Asterol turned to him.

"You're not going to like it."

"It's better than not knowing." Scotty argued. Asterol wasn't sure that was true, but he didn't argue.

"This is a slaving tavern. We're part of the Orion slave trade, and we're on the wrong end." Asterol turned away quickly; he didn't want to see Scotty as he digested the information. He'd seen that look on people before and it made him vomit. Despite being inside Federation territory, Sirvecta Six was not a controlled area and far too much of the Orion Syndicate's business trickled over the border.

Asterol could see Chekov waking up on the other side of the room, going through all the stages Asterol had, plus one: he appeared to be in a lot of pain. He kept grimacing and touching his leg.

"What happened to Chekov?" Asterol forced himself to turn back to Scotty. He craned his neck to see around Asterol before shrugging uncertainly.

"After the soldiers came around the shuttle, I told him to run for it. He got into the forest and then I lost track of him." Scotty paused and took a breath. "Are you sure about where we are?"

"Yes." Asterol replied shortly and turned away again. He really didn't want to talk about his.

"Alright." Scotty said with a huff. "What do you have on you?"

Asterol indulged him. "What?"

"What do you have on you?" Scotty repeated, gesturing first at Asterol, then at the cuffs. "Anything at all that might help me get these damn things off?"

"You want to try and escape?" Asterol asked incredulously. No one pulled that off, not without outside help. Didn't the Commander know that? No, Asterol mused, I suppose he doesn't.

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to stay here." Scotty said sarcastically. Asterol blinked once at him, then looked down at himself with renewed vigor.

"Well, my boots have buckles; you could maybe take those apart it you want." He ripped the silver metal off his boot and handed it to Scotty, who was nodding. "And they didn't take my belt; there're some tiny pieces of metal there, too."

\--------

John Harrison stepped off the shuttle and onto the docking platform smoothly, ignoring the hundred-foot drop that threatened from a foot away. He wound his way through the crowd waiting to get on the rickety old ship. Everyone was talking and complaining; children were whining or screaming; everyone was in dire need of a shower.

London and San Francisco hadn't been anything like this.

John shook the thought from his head and forced his way into the turbolift that was going down to street level. Orion Six was not in the Federation, which was obvious by the slaves that dominated the population. People with cuffs on their wrists were everywhere, running errands, accompanying masters. Owners were able to give them a level of autonomy through the manacles that kept slaves virtually chained to their owners. A locator chip and shocker ensured finding and punishing a runaway was easier than ever.

John's own cuff and finally been removed. Apparently slaves couldn't buy other slaves, and while John was technically a slave and removing his cuff was a felony punishable by death, Jehoram had saw fit to trust him with this anyway. His mistake.

John pushed his way through the crowd to the slave hub, this one specializing in humans and variations there-of. Jehoram was looking for a Starfleet officer dressed in gold, the command color. He wanted codes or something; John hadn't been paying that close attention. It didn't make any difference to him.

John reached the door, but it burst open before he could touch it. A tri-pedal alien walked out, clutching the arm of a terrified human woman. He was licking her neck and whispering things in her ear that caused her to gasp and start crying. The alien laughed and dragged her off. John hovered in the shadows of the doorway and watched them disappear into the crowd before abruptly turned and walked inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

The room looked less like an auction house and more like a pub of some sort. The floor was covered with games John didn't recognize and beings he didn't want to; the air was thick with smoke and uproarious, drunken laughter. John just wanted to get in and get out as fast as possible.

"Hey! Who're you?" Some shouted in John's direction, his words slurring drunkenly. John ignored him and pushed his way further into the room, looking for the slaves.

"You! Stop!" Someone else said briskly, with an air of authority. John turned to face him, hoping the man worked there. He was not disappointed.

The man was human, surprisingly enough. Tall and lanky, he looked like he should have been sold into slavery long ago, but wore no cuff. The man seemed equally surprised John wasn't wearing a cuff.

"I am terribly sorry." The man said, stepping closer to be heard over the noise. "We don't get many terrans on the floor you aren't trying to pull a runner. I suppose you remember those people?"

He's assuming I'm an ex-slave, John realized. That probably means he is. "Yes." John said out loud. "Incredibly stupid people."

The man snorted and gave a conspiratorial smile. "Oh yes. Hard work and a small amount of sucking up to the master gets you much farther."

"There's no compromise for excellence." John agreed, a sentiment he did actually believe, though not necessarily in this context.

"My name's Tobben, by the way. You are..." He held out his hand and let the sentence trail off. John reached out and shook his hand; they both had a firm grip.

"John Harrison. I'm assuming you work here?"

"You assume correctly." Tobben said brightly. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a slave who came off a Starfleet ship." John explained.

"Well, we just picked a bunch on one of our moons, so if you're not looking for anyone in particular, I think we can set you up right away." Tobben turned and gestured for John to follow. They walked to a wall where Tobben flashed a small card and a set of doors opened. He disappeared into the room and John followed. Once the doors closed behind them, the noise from the main room dampened immensely.

"I could show you through the floor, of course, but I figured you'd rather trade face-time for silence?" Tobben half-asked, half-stated. John wasn't sure what he was talking about, but nodded anyway and Tobben agreed. "It gets pretty loud out their sometimes."

Tobben turned to a computer and accessed a series of cameras observing the prisoners. He quickly found the image he wanted and zoomed in. A young man - practically a child - in a gray uniform with yellow accents was lying on the ground, clutching his leg. John could make out a dark patch on his pants leg.

"He's a bit damaged, but it’s nothing a dermal regenerator won't heal right up. We could even do that for you, for a few extra strips of latinum." Tobben said, gesturing to his leg.

"How much is he, with the dermal regeneration?" John searched the uniform for a rank, but couldn't find anything he recognized.

"Two bars, ten strips. That includes the dermal regeneration of any injuries and a standard wrist-chain." Tobben told him smoothly.

"I'll take him." John stood and turned away from the computer.

"Excellent! I'm sure he'll fit you very nicely. I'll have someone get him fixed up while we take care of business and you'll be able to walk out of here with him shortly." Tobben smiled and John resisted the urge to hit him.

The transaction didn't take long, and Jehoram had given him just enough money. He and Tobben exited the small room back into the deafening room.

"Someone will bring your slave to the front by the door shortly. It was a pleasure doing business with you." Tobben held out his hand. John felt a subtle shift in his body, the tightening of his muscles. He was letting emotion take his body; he couldn't let that happen, not here. He had to get control.

He reached out slowly and grabbed the man's hand, trying not to squeeze too tightly. How could this person, this human, this former slave, stand there and act like sending another person into the hell that slavery was, was as easy as selling a suit? He knew what it was like, how was it acceptable to him?

They parted ways moments later, a confident smile still plastered on Tobben's face. John needed to leave the bar, to get away from the smoke and noise, but he wanted to see something first.

He walked back to the center of the room and looked down at his feet. The floor was gridded metal and through it John could see people, cuffed and cowering, staring up at the feet of future masters with pure terror.

John pushed his way through the crowd and left the bar. It had started raining, and most people had left the streets. A few miserable slaves scurried through the cold downpour, trying to avoid puddles and keeping to the shadows of the building.

John pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head to ward off the chill and focused on calming down. This had been happening far more than he could allow and it needed to stop. The door behind him opened, and John heard someone being pushed out. He sighed, set his shoulders, and prepared to complete his assignment.

\--------

Kirk was in the conference room, sitting at the head of the circular table. His elbows rested on the flawless surface, his chin on his hands. They'd been gone far too long.

The plan had been for the shuttle to return after two hours to report their findings and make sure everyone was still alive and well. Four and a half hours had transpired, and Kirk was beyond worried. Spock would never have broken the plan so blatantly; it wasn't in his nature. That meant something was wrong.

But Engineering didn't want the ship to go any closer. Upon further study, they agreed with Carol's theory that it was the planet causing the failures and no one wanted to see how much it would take to make everything shut down, Kirk included.

For the same reason, taking another shuttle in would likely only result in the loss of another crew, and nothing gained. So they couldn't go forward to find the problem. And they couldn't go back because they were missing crew members.

Kirk growled in frustration and rocked back in the chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. He needed to think; there was a solution, there was always a solution-

"Oh! I'm sorry Captain, I'll leave." Kirk turned to see Uhura standing in the doorway. She was trying to make a quick escape, but Kirk could see she was on the verge of tears.

"No. No, that's alright Uhura. Come on in." Kirk stood and smoothed out his uniform. Uhura hovered in the doorway and for a moment Kirk thought she would leave, but then she turned and walked through the door. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Captain, I was just-" She paused, took a deep breath, and started again. "I was just wondering if... if you had any ideas about... about..."

"Spock?" Kirk finished quietly for her, and she nodded, refusing to meet his eye. Kirk took a breath. "I don't know, Uhura. We don't have very many options, but I promise we're not leaving without him."

Uhura looked up at him and nodded slowly. "If you need anything, Captain, anything at all, I'll help."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk said, and touched her shoulder gently. She nodded and left.

Kirk sighed and brought one hand up to his face. What the hell was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Immortal Losing Game is a 1957 game of chess played between David Bronstien and Bogden Sliwa. Bronstien got off to a poor start and was doomed to lose, but he attempted to set a series of elegant traps to swindle victory from Sliwa. Unfortunately, it didn't work and he ended up losing.


	6. Scholar's Mate

Spock had taken the metal box apart and put it back together twice, but he still wasn't sure how to counteract its effect. He could say what caused the effect, and that it was simple enough to stop if one had access to the device, but he still didn't understand the energy itself.

This alone was not a particularly troubling fact - all he needed was time. But time was something they were lacking. The aliens had not yet left. All appeared to be from violent, dangerous species and Spock would classify them as mercenaries by their clothing. They most likely used the energy field to their advantage and attacked anyone who crashed when they were unable to defend themselves.

They were waiting just inside the forest, and Spock wasn't sure what they were waiting for. He and Giotto wouldn't be running out of supplies any time soon, and as long as their phasers were working they had the tactical upper hand. This could - theoretically - go on indefinitely, a fact with bothered Giotto greatly.

"We should be doing something to find the guys missing, not just sitting here in the shuttle." He complained to Spock after first twenty-four hours of stalemate.

"I do not believe we have a choice in the matter." Spock responded coolly. "Unless you would like to ask the mercenaries if they would leave." 

Giotto looked at the Vulcan sharply. He could never tell if the Commander was being sarcastic or not; his sense of humor was as dry as a desert. 

"I think we should confront them. They don't have any long-range weapons; we could just stun them all and-"

"And what? Tie them up? Kill them? And what would we do once we had dealt with them?" Spock stood and walked over to where Giotto was guarding the door. "Commander, we are unable to do anything until we have the shuttle's systems up and running. And our first priority is to report back to the Enterprise all that we have learned."

"Commander, do you- Ahrg!" Giotto cut himself off with a scream of pain; a long metal shaft protruded from his chest. Spock grabbed Giotto and the shaft and pulled both into the shuttle. The shaft had pierced Giotto's back and buried its head into the bulkhead behind him. Spock could see the tip was sharpened to a point with a black barb attached. 

He set Giotto down in a seat and slammed the lock for the hatch. The door slowly lowered as the mercenaries rushed forward. Spock grabbed the phaser Giotto had dropped and fired at the nearest one, dropping him in his tracks. The others hesitated just long enough for the hatch to close and seal, and Spock knew they were safe. None of the primitive weapons employed by the aliens could penetrate the shuttle's space-worthy coating.

Spock fetched the medical kit from the wall and returned to Giotto, who'd grabbed onto the metal shaft with one hand and was supporting himself with the other. Spock examined the rod before touching it: it was plain dark-gray metal with three pieces of black plastic attached to the end at regular intervals around it. It was too short to be a bow-and-arrow, but it could be a crossbow bolt.

Normally, to remove such a weapon, Spock would have snapped off the barbed tip and pulled it forward out of Giotto's chest. But metal would bend, not break, and he couldn't very well drag the barb through Giotto a second time.

"Giotto, I have to remove this so I can dress the wound properly. It will hurt and you will need to stay very still." Spock looked at the Commander. His face was sweaty, jaw clenched in pain, his eyes wide. But he nodded to Spock's orders.

Spock stripped the black plastic off completely and leaned Giotto forward to gain access to his back. He grabbed the bolt just behind the barb and pushed it forward rapidly. The shaft disappeared into Giotto's chest and then reappeared out his back. Giotto threw his head back and growled, but otherwise was still.

Spock grabbed a bandage and pressed it to Giotto's back. It latched itself to his skin immediately, though Spock knew the seal was imperfect due to blood, sweat, and other particles that he had failed to clean away. It would have to do.

Spock repeated the process on the second wound in Giotto's chest. He wasn't sure if the bandages would hold, and the Commander's breathing seemed highly irregular. If Spock's memory of human anatomy was correct, the bolt may have pierced the Commander's lung.

The sound of metal on metal behind him dragged Spock away from his fallen comrade. He grabbed the phaser and took up a position near the hatch, expecting the mercenaries to attack at any moment.

"Cu-Commander." Giotto moaned feebly. Spock glanced quickly toward him, and felt his eyes widen as the sight captured his attention. Giotto was clutching desperately at his chest, his back arched, foaming at the mouth. His limbs were shaking uncontrollably. Poison.

Spock took a half-step toward him, then pushed himself back against the shuttle wall. He needed to catch the mercenaries; they might have the antidote. 

Finally the first one walked through the door and Spock lashed out, hitting his jugular. He collapsed to the ground in a gasping heap. Having lost the element of surprise, Spock spun around the corner and fired at the nearest attacker. 

A Klingon came running toward him from his left, a bat'leth raised above his head. Spock twisted into a crouch and fired again, hitting him in the chest. He heard a thud and twang and a crossbow bolt slammed into the ground near him. Spock turned to face the new threat, a green-skinned alien reloading the weapon, and fired.

With the loss of their long-range weapon, the rest of the mercenaries withdrew quickly. They didn't hover at the edge of the forest, they left the area completely. That was the end of it, or so it would seem.

Spock tucked the phaser into the holster and started searching the bodies. He was looking for anything that might be the antidote to the poison. The first few foot soldiers had nothing but weapons on them, and a few strips of latinum money. Apparently this job didn't pay well.

The archer had several crossbow bolts left, and Spock took one with the hope of analyzing the poison and finding a cure on his own. The ship's computer was mostly up and the replicators would function well enough to synthesize an antidote. 

He returned to the shuttle, pausing only to search the first attacker. He found the same weapons and money, and a small device that appeared to be a communicator. Spock grabbed it and climbed back inside the shuttle. Giotto was still in his seat, his breathing even more ragged than before. Spock moved to stand next to him.

"Giotto, I found what was used to poison you. I will analyze it and should be able to synthesize an antidote." Spock stood and found the medical tricorder. It was simply a poison; he would be able to find the solution.

\--------

John needed to be able to think. He could feel his mind slowly deteriorating in his tiny room. It was an improvement from his first cell, yes, but hardly a palace. Being kept in here for hours was stifling. 

He couldn't plot; he'd tried that already. He needed more data, data he couldn't get stuck in this bloody room! Being confined like this was an insult, it was infuriating, and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do about it. He couldn't tell Jehoram who he was; he had to make Jehoram think he was in control up until the very end.

The look on that arrogant bastard's face would be priceless. 

But he wouldn't be able to do that if he couldn't think. And while his body would never degenerate, he wasn't so sure his mind wouldn't fail. He needed something that would allow him to think. 

His solution was to replicate a small rubber ball, an inch in diameter. The challenge was to guess the angles of the walls and tell how the ball would then reflect, and continue until the ball ran out of kinetic energy, which he also had to predict. It was all physics and trigonometry. He hadn't done that in... centuries.

It quickly became an oddly fascinating game, and while it didn't tax his mental facilities to the limit, it put them to sufficient use. And it wasted time. Because after being in the same room for what was probably becoming days, John was starting to get bored. He hadn't been that for a few centuries, either.

Mere hours after beginning his game, John had it down to a science, and was lying on his cot, eyes closed, throwing the ball along pre-arranged paths and holding his hand patiently in the air for it to come back. He didn't open his eyes when the door opened. 

"Impressive." A cool female voice said. John had been expecting more thugs with black hoods, and opened his eyes in surprise. The woman from breakfast - an aide, John had earlier assumed - was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a smooth suit with shortened arms, showing off thin wrists and long fingers. The bright white scars along her left wrist stood out dramatically from her blue skin.

"Am I the only slave who's yet to be freed around here?" John asked, dropping his head to stare back at the celling. He could practically feel the woman's confusion.

"What makes you think I'm free?" 

John looked up at her words, a frown of his own in place. "Aren’t you?"

She walked into the room, swaying her hips slightly as she did; it made her look like an athlete. "You don't wear a chain, yet you're not free."

"He takes everyone's chains off?" John asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Why not? His system works better anyway." She said with a shrug.

"His system?"

The woman gave him a sidelong glance normally reserved for idiots. "You really think he'd let you out of the house without anything? Don't make the mistake of thinking he trusts you; he just controls you."

"Where are we, anyway? When he first bought me, it looked like I was on a Klingon ship. This place doesn't look like a Klingon ship."

The woman snorted and leaned back against a wall, not looking at John. "No shit. This is his house on Orion Six. The Klingon ship's also his; it's how he gets around."

John nodded, piecing the timeline together. "So when I went from the first cell to here-"

"-You went from the ship to his house." The woman finished, nodding. "They always black-bag people. He thinks their confusion is funny. But you seemed so on-top of things that morning." She finally looked at him properly, the barest of frowns on her face.

John pushed himself into a sitting position, rolling the rubber ball around in one hand. "I usually am."

"You do realize he's watching." The woman gestured with her head meaningfully to one corner of the room, and John nodded without saying anything. He'd already found the camera; it was one of the first things he'd done.

The woman looked down at her feet and crossed her arms over her stomach. She seemed tired, worn, but only a little. Like all her worries were new. And then John heard it. It was quiet, a long way off, but someone was screaming. Not in terror. Not in joy. In pain. Pure, complete, and all-encompassing pain. John tensed, not doubting who the victim and who the interrogator was. 

"Yeah." The woman said quietly, seeing the shift in John's body. "And he wants to have dinner with you. Now."

John shook his head. "What does he want?" He whispered.

"You'll have to ask him; he doesn't tell me anything." The woman pushed herself off the wall and walked back to the door. "You coming?"

John stood and dropped the ball onto the ground, ignoring it as it bounced away. His face was its usual mask, his body stiff and set. He followed the blue-skinned woman out the door and through the hallways. He didn't care; it wouldn't show.

But, God, he hated that man.

\--------

Asterol was lying on his back, one hand over his stomach, the other still strapped to the floor. He was staring at the people above them, trying to guess the various species of alien. He was bored; patients had never been his strong suit. So he entertained himself by watching one being in particular above him: the only human in the room.

He was tall and skinny with blond hair and a strong jaw. He was confident - cocky, even - and interacted with people with an easy smile. He acted as if he owned the place, and maybe he did; Asterol didn't know. It seemed weird, though, that a human would be running a slaving tavern that sold only humans. 

Scotty growled beside him in frustration, muttering a few choice curses. Asterol rolled over and stared at him. He was stretched out along the floor on his stomach, trying to manipulate two makeshift tools with one hand. By the sound of things, it wasn't going well. Asterol hadn't been expecting very different results.

There were loud shouts above and Asterol rolled over again. A man, another human, interestingly enough, was turning to face the blond guy. The blond man looked apologetic, then his smile was back immediately; the newcomer looked... just off, not okay. They talked for a minute, then started walking away. Asterol sighed and closed his eyes. 

But the newcomer stayed with him. Tall, with sloppy dark hair, all pale skin and tense muscles. He looked like he couldn't make up his mind between killing everyone in the room or running for dear life. Which made Asterol wonder why he was there in the first place, if he was so uncomfortable. Asterol almost wished that guy would buy him and Scotty and Chekov and everyone else. He was different, and different might not be a bad thing.

He appeared several minutes later, in the center of the room. He was staring straight through the grid, directly at the prisoners, with a look not of contempt or desire, but of hate and disgust. Asterol wasn't sure where those feelings were directed, but he felt for whoever would be the receiver of that wrath.

A flat buzz echoed around the room, and Asterol looked toward the only door as it opened to emit two guards. Dressed in black jumpsuits and armed with black batons, Asterol was sure they weren't human. He pushed himself up to follow them as they crossed the room. 

They stopped and reached down to pull a prisoner to his feet. Asterol felt his heart drop as he recognized Chekov's uniform. They pulled him to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him across the room. Asterol forced himself to breathe; if the black-haired guy was buying Chekov, he might have a chance.

"What the-" Scotty started, and Asterol turned to see him looking at Chekov. He looked shocked, scared, furious. The impromptu tools lay forgotten on the ground next to his cuff. Asterol reached over and scooped them up; if the Commander was going to make a scene, so be it, but he didn't want their only chance of escape to disappear with him.

"What are you doing?" Scotty called out, sitting as straight as the cuff would allow. Asterol shrunk into himself, trying not to draw attention to himself. Whatever was going to happen, it would not be good.

The guards, of course, could not allow such an outburst from a prisoner. Not to mention, they were probably hoping for the chance to beat someone up; slavers usually were. One continued to drag Chekov out while the other made his way to Scotty. The Commander, to his credit, didn't back down, though he looked less sure of himself than before.

"You got a problem, human?" The guard asked in a low drawl, snapping his baton against his leg. Please say no, Asterol begged silently; please say no.

"You're taking one of my officers." Scotty protested, and Asterol turned away. He didn't want to see this.

"What are you going to do about it? Are you going to stop me?" The guard sneered. This was Scotty's chance to back out, Asterol knew. But he wouldn't take it; Scotty was too stubborn.

Asterol never heard the Commander's reply. Maybe he was too quiet; maybe it wasn't said aloud. But he did hear the first blow, the sound of hard rubber and metal meeting bone. Scotty cried out in pain and Asterol heard his body hit the ground. He opened his eyes, almost turned around from where he was curled on the floor. He caught sight of Chekov, though, being dragged away but his eyes were glued to the scene. His face was pale and he looked horrified but he couldn't turn away. Asterol knew that feeling. 

Asterol could hear the guard continue to beat Scotty, a blend of kicks and blows from the baton. He forced his eyes closed and tried to ignore it. His hand gripped the makeshift tools tighter. He was going to get out of here; he was going to get them all out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scholar's mate: a way to win a chess game in four moves, utilizing the queen and bishop to corner the opposing king before it even gets a chance to move. 
> 
> A/N: Sorry for my brief hiatus, but research papers are ridiculously hard to write, especially when one is a page short. But anyway... I'm back now and will hopefully be posting more regularly again. I'd like to thank everyone who's offered their support, in particular a fellow Trekie I know. You know who you are. She can be found on tumblr [here.](http://undercover-spirker.tumblr.com/)


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